Only Mr. Darcy Will Do

by Kara Louise

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2011, 2008 by Kara Louise

  Cover and internal design © 2011 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover design by The Book Designers

  Cover images © Art Resource; Bridgeman Art Library

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Landmark, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

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  Previously published in 2008 by lulu.com as Something Like Regret

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Louise, Kara.

  Only Mr. Darcy will do / by Kara Louise.

  p. cm.

  1. Bennet, Elizabeth (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Darcy, Fitzwilliam (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 3. Gentry—England—Fiction. 4. England—Social life and customs—19th century—Fiction. I. Austen, Jane, 1775–1817. Pride and prejudice. II. Title.

  PS3612.O815O55 2011

  813’.6—dc22

  2010043652

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  This book is dedicated to my wonderful husband, Dan, who is one of my biggest fans, has faithfully read each of my books, and has wholeheartedly encouraged me to persevere along this path of writing.

  Prologue

  Fitzwilliam Darcy sat stiffly in the carriage as it rambled down the dirt road, uncomfortable from the long ride and restless in his thoughts. His attempt at reading the book he held tightly in his hands had failed miserably. Throughout the day’s journey his eyes had perused no more than two pages; he had comprehended even less. His cousin, Colonel Patrick Fitzwilliam, was in a talkative mood, as was the norm, and Darcy found it markedly aggravating. But that was not the chief foundation for his discomfiture.

  The two men were on their way to Rosings. It was enough that this yearly journey meant having to endure three weeks in the company of their aunt, suffering her complaints and outbursts, enduring her deplorable demands and infuriating insinuations, and tolerating her firm conviction that Darcy was to marry her daughter, Anne. On this visit, however, Darcy could not help but reflect on the fact that his aunt’s clergyman, William Collins, was Elizabeth Bennet’s cousin; his wife, Charlotte, was her best friend; and last year at this time, Miss Bennet had adamantly refused his offer of marriage in this very place.

  Darcy stared out the window as they drew near. He had told not a single soul of his offer to Miss Bennet and her subsequent rejection of his suit. He fought hard against the ensuing melancholy and constant self-evaluation that had taken much of the joy out of his life. While others had merely teased him for being out of sorts, it was his sister, Georgiana, who easily perceived that something grave pressed upon him. She inquired about the reasons for his downcast spirits on several occasions, but he did not wish to burden her with his tale of unrequited love.

  They would soon pass the parsonage and then cross the lane over to Rosings. He closed his book and looked out the window; all the while Fitzwilliam carried on about what he had seen and done since the two men had last been together.

  Fitzwilliam seemed not to care that Darcy contributed little to the conversation. The Colonel related to his disinterested cousin all the adventures his militia had enjoyed up north. Fitzwilliam was well aware that Darcy was not one who rambled on endlessly, but normally he took a great deal of interest in what he had to say. Today, however, he perceived that his cousin seemed not to be listening; his mind was elsewhere.

  “Did you know, Darcy, that it can get so cold up north that your breath freezes when you breathe out through your mouth?”

  “Is that so?” Darcy responded nonchalantly, his eyes riveted to the window.

  “But I tell you truthfully, that the women up there are remarkably affectionate. I can only imagine it is because it gets so cold up there they appreciate the warmth of a man in uniform.”

  Darcy turned to him and scowled.

  Fitzwilliam laughed. “I was merely checking to see if you were listening.”

  “I am, Fitzwilliam, and I am truly not interested in hearing of your mercenary tactics where the fairer sex is concerned.”

  “Always the proper gentleman,” Fitzwilliam teased, combing his fingers through his light brown, wavy hair. “What grave occurrence do you think our aunt will be complaining about during our visit this year?”

  “Most likely she has not received her share of abundant adoration, profuse praise, and generous condescension.”

  “Does she ever?” He shook his head. “As long as we have known her, she has never been content with her lot in life, and yet she has so much. She is not happy unless others recognize how much lower they are than she or they verbosely applaud her with accolades that she hardly deserves.”

  Darcy turned and looked at him with a curious glint in his dark eyes and then quickly turned away. A sudden tightness in his stomach gave him pause to wonder if he, himself, might have a share of some of those same qualities. Is that what he had expected Elizabeth to appreciate in his offer more so than his love? He looked away as he recollected those things that had held prominence in his words that fateful day.

  “Come, Darcy, must you look so glum?” Fitzwilliam slapped him on the shoulder. “We have visited our aunt practically every year at Easter since we were boys. Surely you have learned how to tolerate her eccentricities.”

  Darcy drew in a deep breath. “Yes, but I do not feel particularly inclined to contend with her this year.”

  “I am in no doubt you shall find ample opportunity to go on your long walks or vigorous rides on Challiot as you generally do. We shall hope the weather will be accommodating.”

  “Yes,” he answered, barely following his cousin’s words as the parsonage came into sight. His breath caught slightly upon seeing it again as a mixture of feelings swarmed over him. Turning away from the window, he clenched his fists, hoping to maintain a modicum of control.

  At length, the carriage pulled up to the front of the great edifice that his aunt called home, and came to a stop.

  “Are you ready, Darcy? Do you need a few moments to gather your fortitude?”

  “No, the sooner h
er generous greeting is over, the better.”

  The carriage door was opened, and the two men stepped out. As if on cue, they both stretched out their arms and shook out the stiffness in their legs due to the length of the ride and the confinement of the compartment. They turned toward each other with mirrored looks that reflected their similar feelings and then began to walk to the house.

  When they were ushered into the great hall, a shrill voice pierced their ears.

  “My nephews! You have finally arrived! I wondered if I would ever see you!” She rushed toward them in what appeared to be an agitated manner. “How is it that you are so late? Were the roads not satisfactory? I must talk to someone about that!”

  Both men walked slowly toward her, each pulling from that source deep within that allowed them to bear up under her excessive attention.

  “Good day, Aunt.” Patrick Fitzwilliam was the first to receive an embrace from Lady Catherine de Bourgh. He had no need to fear that she would smother him, as her hugs were brief and light, and he was able to pull away quickly.

  She stepped back and studied his frame. “Patrick, you are too thin. What is the regiment feeding you? I am quite certain not enough. You shall eat like a king here and will lack for nothing. We shall do our best to fatten you up.”

  Fitzwilliam gritted his teeth and smiled. “Thank you, Aunt. I am most grateful.”

  “And so you should be. My good brother and his wife are most likely not as attentive to these details as they should be. They wrongly assume you are responsible enough to take care of yourself. Merely by the looks of you, I can see that you do not.”

  “Yes, Aunt.” The Colonel sent a grave look over to his cousin.

  “Come here, Fitzwilliam. Let me look at you!” insisted his aunt.

  Darcy guardedly approached his aunt as she held out her arms. “It is so good to see you again!” Her embrace lasted a little longer than his cousin’s, but she obliged him by not kissing his cheek as she often did when he was younger.

  “And how does my cousin appear to you, Aunt?” Fitzwilliam asked.

  “He is always in fine figure. A good thing for my Anne, too. Unfortunately, her stamina is slowly weakening, and she may one day require someone to carry her up and down the stairs at Pemberley.”

  Fitzwilliam watched his cousin’s face cloud over with stifled resentment, and as Darcy began to open his mouth, he quickly interceded. “Aunt, the grounds look wonderful! The flowers are simply grand!”

  “Yes, they are.” She turned away from the men to look out a window toward the gardens while Fitzwilliam cast his cousin a warning look. “I must admit I pay special attention to all the work my gardeners do.”

  The three looked out in a brief respite of silence. Darcy could hardly corroborate his cousin’s admiration of the gardens, as they were very artificially pruned and tended. He preferred a more natural look and had never felt an affinity for his aunt’s style of gardening.

  “Come,” she said when she felt they had admired enough. “I know Anne looks forward to welcoming you.” Her eyes went to Darcy as she said this, and as he returned her gaze, he noticed Fitzwilliam’s smirk behind her.

  They followed her into the drawing room, which was purposely kept dark, and therefore a depressing air hung about the room. Lady Catherine insisted that the drapes be kept drawn when Anne was in the room, believing that too much light might cause her harm. As the three walked in, Darcy readily noticed the look of hopeful longing that barely lit Anne’s eyes. He walked over to her, taking her hand and giving it a light kiss.

  “Good day, Anne. It is good to see you.”

  The young lady smiled. “It is good to see you as well, Cousin.”

  Darcy stepped back and watched Fitzwilliam do likewise. It was always the same. They would greet her warmly, and then shortly after, she would return to her room, as the excitement of having visitors always wore on her. Darcy watched in disinterested impatience as Fitzwilliam took the young lady’s hand. But today he noticed something new. There was actually a spark in her eyes as she looked at the Colonel.

  Darcy narrowed his eyes as he saw for the first time that his young cousin, who had supposedly been promised to him at birth, seemed to have a bit of a regard for their elder cousin. Now it was his turn to smirk as he considered how he would heap on the teasing about his cousin’s upcoming marriage to Anne.

  After their greeting and a few cordial words, Mrs. Jenkinson offered to help Anne back to her room.

  “No thank you, Mrs. Jenkinson. I should prefer to remain down here with my cousins if you do not mind.”

  Lady Catherine looked sternly at her daughter. “Impossible, Anne! You know my sentiments. You require all the rest you can get, and this has already been too much excitement for you.”

  “But they have only just arrived. I should like to visit with them a little longer. Please, Mother.”

  Lady Catherine grudgingly relented. “For only a few minutes more. Then you must retire. I will hear nothing further from you.”

  As they visited, Lady Catherine did most of the talking. Darcy watched as Anne stole glances at their cousin, who made every attempt to engage Anne in conversation. Darcy let out a soft chuckle. He could easily see why Anne was so partial to him. Fitzwilliam was very attentive toward their frail cousin, even though he had no romantic inclinations toward her. He had an engaging personality and had nothing to fear in regards to her admiration.

  Darcy’s thoughts went back to Anne. She was certainly not as fragile as her mother believed her to be. It was true she had been ill as a child and had been greatly weakened because of it. But shielding her from any sort of life, activity, and hardship of any kind had only served to give her the appearance of frailty. Darcy was convinced that all she needed was a bit more freedom to experience the warmth of the sunshine on her face as she walked, the joy of a dance at a ball with a favourite gentleman, or the thrill of going to the theatre or a concert in Town. While he was certain her mother would never allow it, Darcy was convinced it would do nothing but improve her.

  In the midst of Darcy’s musings, he became aware of his aunt making some sort of reference to Mr. Collins. He turned toward her and caught only the last part of what she was saying.

  “So now I must find another clergyman, and you know how difficult it is to find one who will be suited for the position. I do not look forward to having to prepare another. Mr. Collins had been so accommodating and learned to gratify my expectations so well.”

  “Excuse me, Aunt,” Darcy interrupted. “What happened to Mr. Collins?”

  “He has quit Hunsford! He and Mrs. Collins! Three months ago! It has been extremely vexing for me to try to find another clergyman who suits me. I have had two come and go already! It is not to be borne!”

  Darcy was surprised at the sudden feeling of disappointment he felt upon hearing this news, knowing now there would be no possibility of encountering Miss Elizabeth again. He looked curiously at his aunt as he inquired, “Where did Mr. Collins and his wife go?”

  “To that estate that was entailed to him in Hertfordshire, of course. Mr… Mr… whatever-his-name died last year, and he and Mrs. Collins claimed their rightful possession of it.”

  “Mr. Bennet?” Darcy asked abruptly. He just as quickly softened his voice in an attempt to hide his piqued interest. “Was it Mr. Bennet who died?”

  “Yes, he is the very one. Mr. Bennet. This has been a grave inconvenience.” Lady Catherine expelled a drawn-out huff.

  “Yes, I can imagine,” Darcy said with noticeable irritation, rubbing his chin as he considered this. “But do you know, Aunt, what happened with the Bennet ladies? Do they remain at Longbourn with Mr. Collins and his wife?”

  “The Bennet ladies? Well, how should I know and why should I care about them? They do not concern me. I am solely concerned with finding someone suitable to be Rosings’s clergyman.” Her grey eyes narrowed into small slits.

  Darcy struggled to remain calm. It became a burden even to swal
low, and although he had determined this past year to put Miss Bennet out of his mind, he had found it increasingly difficult to put her out of his heart. He wanted to know—needed to know—what had become of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

  He struggled for composure, knowing any indication of interest would spark Patrick’s curiosity. He could not appear too concerned.

  He need not have worried though, because his cousin suddenly asked, “Is that Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s family? The one who visited the Collinses last year whilst we were here?” His blue eyes lit up with recollection.

  “The very one,” Lady Catherine observed. She shook her head repeatedly. “Impertinent young lady, if I recall. But I really cannot tell you what happened to them. I suppose if they are fortunate, they are still living at Longbourn with the Collinses. After all, he is a clergyman—and they are family—I am quite certain he has had compassion for them and allowed them to remain.”

  Darcy stood up and walked over to the window, surprised by those thoughts and feelings that had unexpectedly returned. He took in a deep breath to calm himself. Looking out at the grounds, he thought back to the events of a year ago. Miss Bennet’s rejection of his suit had hurt and angered him greatly, but judging by the feelings that were presently surfacing, he realized he still cared deeply for her.

  As he considered the Bennet ladies’ situation, he knew not whether it would be more fortunate for them to still be living at Longbourn with the Collinses or to have been forcibly removed from their home. He could not imagine her living in the same household as Collins. Miss Elizabeth Bennet. His heart beat rapidly at the mere thought of her, the only woman he had ever loved.

  Granted, he had been impulsive in asking for her hand, yet he had reasoned she returned his regard. He had always enjoyed their discussions—he found her wit and intelligence stimulating. But he discovered too late that while she had been relentlessly in his thoughts those months since he first made her acquaintance, he had certainly not been in hers. And those times when he was, it was almost always in a very poor light.

  She had lashed out at him in her refusal of his suit. Yet it had been in the past few months that he finally was able to look back at their last encounter with a measure of equanimity. He had come to the realization that much of what she had said to him that day was true.